Pennsylvania

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It was day two, round three of a grueling golf weekend at the Pocono Manor golf resort in eastern Pennsylvania, circa 1997. When my foursome arrived at the “halfway house” 27 holes into a hazy, hung-over Saturday, there was a large, unopened tin sitting on a tray next to the charcoal grill. I asked the girl what was inside. She peeled back the foil to reveal a batch of pulled pork I find unrivaled to this day. Perfectly peppered, moderately vinegared, succulent yet not too saucy. It was a gastronomic delight where one usually settles for hot dogs and Nutter Butters, if one is lucky. Well, I wolfed down that pulled pork sandwich and played hole #10 with a bounce in my step. Then I drove the cart right back to that concession shack and got me another.